Admit something . . . .

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise

someone would call the authorities.

Still, think about this, this great pull in us to

connect.

Why not become the one who lives with a

full moon in each eye that is

always saying,

with that sweet moon language,

what every other eye in

 this world is

dying to

hear?

~ Hafiz, Ladinsky

The best thing about Christmas:  I had all day to lounge around and read Hafiz.  And since this is a Full Moon Christamas, each poem, and there are several of his, that had a moon reference reminded me of the fact that the last time the moon was full on Christmas I was twenty-one years old.  It occured two days before I met my future husband, the father of my beautiful children who are now adults.  That was thirty-eight years ago.

I did not realize until today that I have some expectation that this Full Moon Christmas will herald something amazing and wonderful coming into my life again, just like after the last Full Moon Christmas.

It's hard for me to comprehend why I have this expectation.  In the last thirty-eight years much has changed in how I see and understand the world and my life.  I don't believe that all things happen for a reason.  And because I don't believe in a God anymore, the old addage of God not giving us more than we can handle is meaningless.  I know there is no magical place where we all re-gather, recognizable as the people we are now, after we die.  

Yet, here I am, open to a new awakening in what has become a tedious life.  If this Full Moon Christmas is a portal, let something wondrous come through, with all concomitant props. We'll see how my fifty-nine year old science positive, justice seeking, and self loving person welcomes and makes room for amazig and wonderful.  

A Winter Solstice Metaphor.

There are no salmon in the river pictured above.  It's a creek that flows through Ames, Iowa.  No salmon ever.  Yet, somehow this Mary Oliver poem seems as if it was written specifically for me. Often I am confused about which is a better fit for me - power or powerlessness?  It is hard for me to know if I am the dark force swallowing the light, or the light that has been consumed.  Does it even matter?

Into the River
                    ~ Mary Oliver


I have seen the great fee
leaping
into the river

and I havev seen moonlight
milky
along the long muzzle

and I have seen the body
of something
scaled and wonderful

slumped in the sudden fire of its mouth,
and I could not tell
which fit me

more comfortably, the power,
or the powerlessness;
neither would have me

entirely; I was divided,
consumed,
by sympathy,

pity, admiration.
After a while
it was done,

the fish had vanished, the bear
lumped away
to the green shore

and into the trees.  And there there was only
this story.
It followed me home

and entered my house -
a difficult guest
with a single tune

which it hums all day and through the night -
slowly or briskly,
it doesn't matter,

it sounds like a river leaping and falling;
it sounds like a body
falling apart.

You're Not Helping . . .

Brené Brown on Empathy - Click for 2 minute video

A few years ago a brilliant young woman introduced me to the fabulous Brene Brown video on empathy.  This young woman, Julia, was working under my direction with a high school youth group. One day she came to me and asked, "Do you think they'll get this?"

I was surprised that she thought they needed this video.  I inquired if something had happened to one of the students or in their larger community.  She just said, "No.  But they use what they perceive as their peers' heavy experiences to deflect matters that are part of everyday life.  It's like they want to acknowledge that their friends have experienced sadness or disappointment or trauma, but they want to deflect the emotions because, I think, it triggers their own sad or heavy unprocessed emotions and experiences."

"Yeah," I said.  "Show it."  She bounded out of my office and I sat down to google the video and watch it again.  "This is great," I said to myself as I pressed play and then re-play.  I'm going to use this someday . . .

That day is here.

To all my friends and acquaintances who greet me with "You look exhausted."  Or who respond to me when I decline an invite because I have to work by telling me "Oh no.  You work so hard!  What a saint." To everyone who says, "I could never do what you do.  Or they do."  I would like to tell you, "You're not helping. . ." By talking about these problems like they have nothing to do with you disenfranchises those who have, either by choice or chance, opened themselves to let us know about their pain.

But, you are right, I do work hard.  I do become intimately involved in situations where people have suffered trauma and pain.  So do you.  We have all experienced brokenness, pain, sadness, and being treated badly.  Some experiences are delivered to us suddenly with a lot of physical pain and nameable trauma, causing us to fear for our life in that moment.  But for most of us, experiences that create hurt and brokenness are delivered in small, confusing doses over long periods of time,making us question our reality and the validity of our life and our very existence.

I work with those who can, without involving their perception or sanity, name the trauma that has happened to them. Their bruises, police reports, and major upset to their everyday life provides talking points for honest conversations about what they've experienced and how they might move forward.

Many can't name the exact date or time that the trauma they've experienced caused them to break and fear for their life.  It is difficult for some to even say for sure what their experience was.  This difficulty comes because the experiences imposed on them are calculated, vague, and repetitive, making them difficult to identify or describe as hurtful.  (Gaslighting - a future post?)  These experiences lead to survivors who are labeled the "dramatic" or "addicted" one in the family or group.  They are the ones who "always ruin holidays/birthdays/parties and other people's lives."  The ones who inflict the pain and damage are quick to point out that you "just never fit in" with the rest of us.

When engaging with people who have experienced an identifiable or public trauma, don't pity them.  Don't elevate or glorify those who choose to accompany those survivors on their path.  Instead, consider sharing a bit of your private struggle with those whose struggle has become more public.  You could say, "I don't know what to say to you.  I know when I've experienced pain and hurt, I just want people to be there for me, not asking questions or giving advice.  I can only imagine that you may be feeling that right now, too."  Then, shhhhhh.  Just be there.  You don't need to talk.

When the moment seems appropriate, if you can and if you want to, offer to help. Do not say, "Let me know if you need anything." Rather, throw out a concrete offer of help.  "I can bring you dinner in an hour," or "I'll take care of turning the project in for us next week," or "I can come after the kids are in bed tonight.  I'll just be with you for an hour."  Tell what you can do.  Then, and this is so important, do not take it personally when they decline your offer to help.  If you can't help, tell them that too.  "I have a lot of meetings and deadlines right now, but I'll check in with you on Tuesday."  Simple, concise, communication.  That is what people in pain need most.

Finally, when you hear of a person's sad or traumatic experience, never say, "Oh you poor thing." Follow the advice in Brene's video and what I've shared above. Then go and honestly explore what feelings came up for you as you engaged with the survivor.  Don't be afraid or too proud to reach out to be supported in your own processing and healing from hurts.

One day, when we can all say we've assessed our lives honestly and work continually to see the sameness rather than the differences between us, we will make a better world.  We will be a society of empaths, speaking a language that we now only comprehend in small bits and feelings.

Green is the color of love and empathy.  It is associated with your heart chakra.  It is from this chakra
that you reach beyond yourself, and then back again, to connect with something larger,
deeper, and greater than yourself.  It is from this chakra that we begin to heal ourselves and the world.  

Relationship with the Moon

Since my house burned down

I now own a better view

of the rising moon.  

                                             ~ Mizuta Mashahide


I feel like my house has burned so many times . . . relationships turned to smoldering ashes that refuse to burn out and scatter; trust in a bronze age myth that holds love and wisdom as well as misogyny, hate, and fear; life set on goals that turned out to be tinder for a large fire; societal norms that burden many and benefit few. . .

I will say, as my metaphorical houses have burned and smoldered, I learned that the heat from the flames and red hot coals warmed me with knowledge that I did not posses before the fire began. Always, at some point I looked up and saw the moon, view free of walls or roof.

I do still find myself hanging around  piles of ashes and blackened timbers, poking through the ruins to see if there is anything that survived the fire, anything that could be salvaged to build the next structure. For the strong elements that survive - jewels, hard metals, stone - I am grateful.   These items, tempered by the flames, will become corner stones for what comes next.

After each fire I try to take some time before I begin rebuilding.  I gather the things that survivied and lay them all out on the ground to see the patterns or possibilities for the next structure.

The moon laughs as I go through this uneven cycle - sometimes years between fires, sometimes only a few hours.  If she has taught me anything, it is that everything happens in cycles.  Her cycles turn in predicable phases, mine rebel and ignore pattern or plans.

As I've lived my life's cycle, I have learned to build my houses a bit differently, to not become too attached to them and to use more stone than wood.  I know the smaller the structure, the less maintenance is required; the more windows, the more I will see the sun and stars; the more people I invite in, the more help there will be if the fire comes again.

Tonight, unsheltered, I am watching the moon rise again.  As my soul and eyes grow heavy, I look around to see what I salvaged from the last fire.  As plans turn into dreams moon beams shower me with the light of healing and restoration, unemcumbered by roof or walls.

I'm Like the Dead Sea, You'll Never Sink When You're With Me

Listening to my Spotify Channel Drowning in a Sea of Folk after a long day, I realize I might be like the Dead Sea when I am at my best and healthiest self, keeping people from sinking.  I flow with those who swim or struggle, I detoxify those who dare to ingest my support, or walk near enough my waves to feel the silky salt water wash over them.   Whether or not they were aware, here are people that waded my shores today -

H - celebrated 35 years on the planet today.  The salts that keep her buoyant in the sea are modern medicine, bliss, and occasional foot rubs.

E - celebrating 5 years of being a miracle. The salts that keep him afloat are modern medicine, a calm and clever mom, and the big world ahead for him to make his mark in.

W - birthday blessings to you.  You've probably forgotten that it even is your birthday.  And what could possibly keep you from sinking when it is also the day you lost your precious N?  For a parent to be present at their child's birth is required, to be present at their child's passing from this life is . . . there are no words.  The salts that will keep you from drowning today will be the Love that finds you and brings you the surface every time you need to take a deep breath.

E - turning 19 today, in the harsh reality that life does not operate like all those movies, television shows, and magazine ads.  The salt that brings you buoyancy is getting out of bed each day.  You can do it.

S - not your birthday, but taking a big step in caring for yourself and demanding to be heard.  The salt that is saving you today is that you are unaware of the tasks ahead.

I - not your birthday, either.  Just continually meeting life head on.  I hope you know that your salts will be your bravery, peaceful heart, continuing to share your story . . . and me.  Really me.

D - just another regular day for you.  Your salt is knowing that you are enough.

A - lonely times for you.  Your salt is your willingness to be so alone in order to reach the goal that is so important to you.

VAEM - seen or not, you imps are with me everyday.  Your salts are the dedication your families have to you; our unconditional love for you.

M - everyday I wish we were closer.  Your salts are your bravery in defining the world you see.  You are salt, yourself.

D - not a day goes by that I don't wonder what you would have to say about something.  Your salt is your ability to weave your experiences into a vision for a peaceful and equitable world.

M - every morning I check to see that you are still here, on the planet.  I feel so much of your life is entrusted to me.  Your salt is your inherent wisdom and . . . me.

EOE - I think of how crowded we all are, and that's okay.  I like sharing the planet with you.  Our salt could be each other if we just remember to see everyone of us in each of us.

Song "Dead Sea"

Like the Dead Sea

You told me I was like the Dead Sea

You'll never sink when you are with me

Oh Lord, like the Dead Sea   (Chorus from Dead Sea ~ Lumineers)

From the Common Cold to PTSD. Or, I am the Worst Patient Ever

I've been ill with a Fall Respiratory Syndrome (FRS) for several days.   Okay, it's a cold, but I get it every year so I've given it a more official sounding name.  I lie and tell myself and others that I suffer from seasonal allergies.  But, when I am sick enough, when I am oxygen deficient from respiratory failure and a high temp, I allow the truth to spill out.  FRS is my bodies attempts to make me deal with all the unresolved trauma (not drama) in my life.  This realization usually comes after my appointment at the clinic, but before the steroids and inhalers have had time to fully restore my oxygen levels to normal.  The predictability of my FRS is so annoying.  

"The Body Keeps the Score"
by Bessel van der Kolk, MD

I wish I could stop looking for something beyond  leukotrines, bacteria, and viruses on which to blame FRS, but I've recently been doing a lot of reading and participating in workshops on trauma and it's effects on the body. Affirmation comes regularly that I am correct in my understanding that every malady of my body is traceable back to the trauma of my childhood. Right?  Right.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         But, so what?  Does anyone care if the cold I am transmitting is caused by my unaddressed trauma?   No. Everyone just wants you to stay home and not sit next to them in conference rooms when you have a nasty infection.  Do not, I repeat do not, expect the stranger sitting next to you to reach over and hug your wheezing, mucus expelling body when you share you are sorry to have to be here today, but the course is mandatory and the infection is all the fault of some creep back in 1963.  

In this same vein, do not expect to go to your primary care doc and plan to have an engaging conversation about you score of 8 on the ACE (Adverse Childhood Experiences) test when they had you down for being seen for a respiratory infection.  They are too busy, too embarrassed,or too uninformed to share any sort of meaningful connection between your score and your distressed breathing.  And, FYI, sharing this information will not automatically get you weight loss drugs - even though it should -  because of all that extra cortisol you've been producing over a lifetime.  No, it will not.  You will get steroids that make you gain more weight for the respiratory infection called into the pharmacy of your choice and a "we can talk about your depression at your annual exam" as both doctor and nurse crowd out the door together so as not to be left alone with you in the exam room.  

Per the pattern of my life, I was not really expecting to have a long conversation about trauma with a doctor who double booked me into his schedule for a URI.  And no amount of insight into why I struggle with all the physical disorders I have will heal them.  To get through each day, and each episode of breached health, I will have to rely on the tools I've developed over the course of my life to keep me rebounding - resiliency, positivity, strategic problem solving, and the yearning for connectedness.  And meditation.  And yoga.   And sleep, restorative sleep.

All sarcasm aside, I do understand the connection between trauma and illness.  Trauma, no matter how much you do to resolve the incident or make sense of it, how much you try to divert your memories and your fears, it is a part of who you are.  This is not a hopeless thing - there is much to offer those who have the bravery to ask for help, to seek answers, and allow safe people into their lives to help them in the healing.  And, trauma teaches us much about ourselves and the world we live in.

There are many of us out here doing the work of healing and helping others heal.  We all owe a debt of gratitude to the Vietnam Vets who taught is a lot about trauma.  They were the first significant group of survivors to reach out and tell us that what they'd experienced would not allow them to live the kind of lives we expected then to live when they returned from war.  This led to the naming of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and all the ensuing research.  

The passing of research from veterans to the rest of us who have experienced trauma in our lives is a great gift.  This research is changing the lives of many who thought they'd be haunted by memories and nightmares forever.  Dr. van der Kolk estimates that for every 1 veteran who suffers from PTSD, there are 10 civilians who suffer from PTSD due to childhood or adult trauma.  We are a world of walking wounded.  

The prescription is not in a pill (well, some are), but rather in the compassion of those who walk with the wounded.  It is on all of us to create safe places for stories of trauma to be told.  People who suffer PTSD want to disconnect from the nightmares and fear that linger from their experiences, but they do not want to forget the significance of the story.   It is on all of us to believe the stories that are told, to allow ourselves to be uncomfortable as we listen.  Then we must all help hold the stories, sharing the collective or personal responsibility for our part in the story.  Yes, we all hold responsibility in the stories, but that is another post.  This is not an easy process, but it is well worth the amazing and beautiful souls we will unburden.

Many thanks to those who have heard my stories, believed them, and continue to hold them with me.  

There's a Ribbon for It . . . .

Last week I attended the National Sexual Assault Conference (NSAC) in Los Angeles.  As with many conferences, there were vendors in the hallways hawking their materials that support sexual assault advocates and the programs we work in.  As reminders of the vendor's materials for sale, there were give-away prizes like pens and flashlights and, at one vendor, a ribbon lapel pin.

As a snapped up the "ribbon" pin and put it in the free bag handed to me by another vendor, my mind began to turn.  I am no stranger to the pink ribbon, having relatives and friends who are or have been in active treatment of their breast cancer.  I have even paid good money for the privilege of walking a few miles for breast cancer awareness, all the while making the Susan G. Komen organization a bit richer.  

I have worn the green ribbon for mental health awareness, the red ribbon for HIV awareness, the rainbow ribbon for LGBTQ rights, and the denim ribbon of peace.  I know ribbons!

As the two-tone blue pin with the red heart at the top hit the bottom of the bag, I imagined myself touching the pin on my chest as I explained to people that this particular color supported and honored survivors of childhood sexual assault.  Would they ask if I was the survivor or wonder if I knew someone who was a survivor?  When I told them who it was, would people stop and give me a hug?  Would they share a story of their friend, mother, sister, brother, neighbor, child going through the same thing?

I then started to imagine having this particular colored ribbon tattooed on my shoulder to honor some amazing people.  I imagined buying shoes or a t-shirt or a purse with this particular ribbon imprinted for all to see.  Or, what if I sent out an email inviting my family and friends to join me in a walk to raise awareness and funds to try to wipe out childhood sexual assault?  

If you're reading this, you know how you'd react to my wearing this ribbon and that invite to pay money to walk 2.5 miles.  Thanks to those who would give me a teary hug (asking first, of course) and say thanks for reminding us that many people walk with invisible scars.  And, even, thanks to those who would wonder why I can't just move on.  Thanks to those who just can't talk about it, who say they're fine.  You ALL bring me growth and clarity.

I have not posted on my blog for two months as I was in the process of applying for and beginning the work I will now do in the coming years.  This work, sexual assault advocacy, education, and prevention on our local campus, is rife with triggers for me.  I knew I needed to go inward to make certain I was in a place where I could be a true advocate, a strong voice of statistical reason and non-anxious emotional support.  I'm there.  And, I promise, I'm back here.

Now, be warned.  If you are going to google this ribbon, you will have many options for exploration, including Wikipedia, where you will find this ribbon:

Black and white longitudinally-striped ribbon

Gloucestershire Against Badger Shooting (GABS) are standing up for badgers in the Gloucestershire pilot cull area

Since I did not bring back enough ribbons for all of you, may I suggest that you simply treat everyone you meet with kindness and respect, honoring the realities that made them into the amazing people that they are today.  

B, Me, M - a few ACCESS SA Team Members